


Cai

by MrProphet



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	1. The First Principle

In the end it all comes down to girls; so many things do. My father once told me that a girl would be the death of me. That was when I was eight and his supposition has been supported by professional seers since then. If they do turn out to be right, I can think of worse reasons to get yourself killed, although to be honest, I think Arthur will be the one to lead me to my doom. 

The first girl – well, the first important one, anyway; the one who started this thing – was Anwyl. I met her at the Midwinter Wildwood Fair when I was eleven and my interest in girls was just moving beyond the purely aesthetic. 

The Fair happened twice a year, at Midsummer and Midwinter, on the edge of the Wildwood. Traders came from far and wide to sell their wares in the clearing between the town and my father’s stronghold of Dinas Cynyr. It was the greatest event in the town’s calendar, and a time of great celebration, feasting and drunkenness. In summer, there was dancing on the green, and in winter a great bonfire, and always much food and drink for all; my father’s gift to his tenants and peasantry. As such, he deemed it an unsuitable entertainment for me, but on this occasion, he was away from home as so I was able to slip out of the hall and go down to the clearing.

Anwyl was a trader’s daughter – I could see at once from her clothes that she was from one of the travelling families – of about my own age. She had the kind of confidence that only comes to a child who hasn’t yet learned that life could be hard; the same confidence I had at that time. Confident or no, I’d already established some ground rules – I had kissed one of the kitchen girls without warning the week before; I got an almighty slap for my trouble and a hiding from my father for good measure – and so I took my time planning my move before I made it.

When I was ready I looked up and saw that she was gone. That was a shame; the line I’d worked out was a classic.

I wandered in the Fair for a while and was pondering whether I dared risk the meat pies when I felt a light touch at my hip. I grabbed out instinctively and caught a skinny wrist. As I turned I saw the girl I had been watching, her hand on my purse. While I watched her, she had seemed poised and easy, but caught in the act of theft her face contorted with a wild fury.

“Wait…” I began, as she tried to pull away, but she put a hand on my arm and I felt my strength leave me. I don’t recall falling, but suddenly I knew that I was on the ground.

My purse was still on my belt and so I waved away the concern of the stall-holders, bought a large pie and went on my way. There were many travelling families at the Fair, but tracking the girl proved easy. Anwyl an Gorthyn seemed to have an impressive reputation for a girl of only ten summers old.

Her father, Gorthyn, was a tinker and engraver, making, selling and repairing pots, pans, brooches and other jewellery. I was shown many examples of his work, which was very fine. All agreed that he was a superb craftsman, and that the bane of his life was his daughter, Anwyl, who was a thief and a scoundrel as well as a precocious artisan in her own right.

I found her father at his work and no sign of the daughter. He greeted me courteously.

“I am Cai ap Cynyr,” I told him. “I’m told that you are the finest tinsmith in all of Albion; I see that I haven’t been misinformed.” It wasn’t just flattery either; the work in his stall was, if anything, better than that which I had been shown before. I picked up and examined a particularly fine silver ring, traced with fine engraving.

“You are too kind, sir,” Gorthyn told me. “You have a good eye, but that is not my work. My daughter made that ring; she has the gift for silver and gold.”

“You must be proud of her.”

He laughed softly. “She has cunning hands, but squanders her gifts.”

I looked over his wagon and stall with some interest. “Surely a man of your skill, with such a talented apprentice, should do a better trade than this,” I noted.

Gorthyn shrugged. “Now you sound like my daughter,” he told me. “I could perhaps charge more for my work than I do, but this skill in my hands is a gift; what right have I to profit by a thing that has cost me so little effort?”

Gorthyn was then, and remains, one of the most extraordinary men I have ever met. I sat with him and we ate my pie and drank his ale, which he offered freely despite his poverty. He watched me as we ate, and I swear that he gazed into my soul.

“You did not come here because you had heard of my craft,” he told me. “You came here for something else, but not what you think,” he added.

I begged his pardon and asked what he meant.

“You believe that you came looking for my daughter,” he explained. “Did she steal from you?”

“She tried,” I answered, “although that is not the only reason for my interest.”

“Of course not. In fact, you were really drawn here by the same thing that drew you to her.”

“And that is?”

“Insight,” he explained. “You have it, although you know it not. Insight is the first principle of enchantment; to change things, you must first see them as they really are.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I admitted. “I am the son of Cynyr Forkbeard, heir to the estate of Dinas Cynyr and the wardenship of the Wildwood. I have no interest in enchantment.”

“No? Well that is a shame, for I see potential in you. You have it in you to be a great enchanter-knight; like Gwydion or Math ap Mathonwy.”

“But I know nothing of magic,” I protested.

“But you possess insight. You saw at once the disparity between my work and my wealth; and it takes a sharp eye and a strong will to catch my daughter when she is thieving. And then there is the fact that she sought to steal from you, yet still you seek her out with no thought of vengeance. You must see something uncommon in her.” 

I think bushed at that.

He held out Anwyl’s silver ring. “Look at this,” he challenged. “Tell me about the markings.”

I took the ring and turned it in my fingers. “There are two lines,” I realised, “looped and coiled and intertwining, but always two lines. It’s a lover’s ring. I got up and walked to the stall.

“What are you looking for?” Gorthyn asked.

“The pair,” I replied. “There must be a pair. Mustn’t there?”

Gorthyn smiled. “Very good. Do you see anything else?”

I pointed to a plain bronze spoon. “She made this,” I said. “She made most of the gold and silverwork, but also this.”

“I always liked that piece,” he confided. “It’s simple; elegant. Her later work is fine, but rather… fancy.”

I nodded to show my understanding. Anwyl’s work  _was_  rather flamboyant. “But not this,” I noted, holding up the ring. “It’s more like the spoon.”

“She made a pair,” he admitted. “I just don’t know what she did with it. She has insight as well and she’s a deep one.”

We sat a while longer and he explained more about insight. Much of it seemed like common sense; reading the truth and lies in people’s faces, seeing where the game was hiding in the deep forest, telling good meat from bad and honest folk from liars. Then there was a more esoteric side to it; predicting the weather, knowing where to find game or where people would go in a given situation, recognising the early signs of sickness.

The Fair lasted for five days, of which this was the first. Gorthyn promised to tell me more the next day; I promised to come back.

*

I went back early the next morning, taking bread and butter and bacon from the kitchen. Of course Gorthyn had known I would come back, but Anwyl looked surprised to look up from her work and see me.

“What do you want?” she demanded harshly, that wild, hunted look on her face once more.

“I… I brought breakfast,” I told her. My throat was dry and my voice came out hoarse and feeble.

Her father laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Go and fetch the pan,” he told her, “and bring some of the honey.”

Anwyl turned a grateful look on her father and hurried inside. She looked scared; vulnerable. She had not looked like that before I caught her stealing from me, but I could see now that it had always been inside her.

“Someone hurt her,” I realised.

Gorthyn put a finger to his lips.

“I understand,” I told him, and it was true. “I can… see that she doesn’t want it mentioned.”

He nodded. “The only other time she was caught thieving they were… Uther Pendragon does not spare criminals for their youth.”

I shuddered, seeing the pain in his eyes as clearly as I had in his daughter's. This, I realised, was the curse of insight; to recognise and share the pain of others, especially of those close to you. He never taught me that, but then he must have known that he didn’t have to.

“She hides well,” I said.

“She has insight. She knows how to hide from the insight of others; most of the time.”

I had expected more trouble from Anwyl, but she quickly accepted my presence and my good intentions. Of course she did; she had insight and could see my sincerity.

I spoke at length with Gorthyn, but at last he told me that insight could only really be taught through example.

“Go out with Anwyl; she can show you how to see the Fair through new eyes. And you may be able to keep her out of trouble.”

I laughed at that. “I am not an enchanter yet,” I reminded him. I was gladdened when Anwyl laughed as well.

*

True to Gorthyn’s promise, Anwyl showed me the Fair through new eyes. Not only did she guide me in the use of my insight, but I also had the experience of seeing how a thief looked at a crowd.

“That man,” she confided, “looks rich, but is really poor. He is probably a tailor and can make himself a good suit of clothes, but his boots are poor and the jerkin old. Robbing him would be all risk for no reward.”

“What about him?” I asked, pointing to a man in an old cloak.

“Well spotted. Yes, there are good boots under that cloak; probably a purse as well. Like with you.”

“You saw that I had money?”

She nodded. “Not that I meant to keep your purse,” she assured me.

“No?”

“I was going to return it and so earn your gratitude. I could see that you were not only rich, but also local; I knew that if you thought yourself indebted to me you’d bring more money to my father’s stall; maybe give him your patronage.”

I smiled at her. “I may yet do that. You and your father have opened my eyes.”

“He won’t take money for that,” she assured me. “It’s hard enough to persuade him to take money for his tinwork. I’ll take it though,” she added. “I can tell him I stole it.”

“Will he believe you?”

“He’ll pretend to.”

*

For three more days of the Fair I visited Gorthyn and his daughter, providing as much food as the father would allow. In that time, they transformed my vision of the world.

I learned to read people and birds and beasts; to listen to the earth and the air. I didn’t just learn to see more, all of my senses seemed sharpened, which was not always a benefit as I learned when I chose the wrong meat pie stall.

“This is only the beginning, however,” Gorthyn explained. “You have learned the first principle of enchantment, but five principles mark the path to power: Insight, intuition, discipline, knowledge and sacrifice.”

“And will you teach me these as well?” I asked.

Gorthyn shook his head. “I am a master tinsmith, but a mere journeyman in the art. You must seek other teachers now.”

I sighed deeply. I had tried to hide my anxiety at what I knew must come, but of course it was worthless to attempt to conceal anything from Gorthyn.

“I do not think that we shall meet again,” he admitted.

“And… Anwyl?”

“I do not know,” Gorthyn admitted. “It is… difficult to tell. I’m not a soothsayer, Cai; my foresight is limited. I only know that I shall not meet you again.”

Parting from Gorthyn, knowing that it would be for the last time, was hard; parting from Anwyl was harder. I had grown very fond of her in those five days and I knew that she felt something for me.

“I could stay,” she suggested, but I knew that she didn’t mean it.

“Your father needs you,” I sighed regretfully and we both knew it was true. There was no possibility of protest or self-deception; the curse of insight.

I kissed her and she didn’t slap me; instead, she held me gently.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” she asked.

I nodded. “But you’re the first girl to kiss me,” I admitted.

We didn’t kiss again, but we held onto each other until it was time for her to leave. Just before she left me to board the wagon, I handed her my purse.

“You know that we do not ask charity,” she told me.

“I know,” I assured her. “I want to buy something. The silver ring and the bronze spoon. I insist on setting my own price,” I added.

She smiled at me and fetched the two items from the wagon. “I’ll always have a use for a good spoon,” I assured her.

“And the ring?” she asked.

Without speaking, I took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. “Don’t forget me, thief,” I enjoined her.

She hugged me tightly. “Remember me, rich boy.”

I walked slowly home, fingering that bronze spoon in my pocket and pondering what might be. How should I find anyone to teach me the next principle of enchantment? Was it my destiny to be an enchanter-knight? Should I ever see Anwyl again?

Such concerns were soon to seem rather trivial. I returned home to find that my father had just arrived back, and he had brought something with him.

“It’s a bad business, Cai!” he called as I approached. He still sat astride his charger and as he climbed down, I could see that he held something beneath his cloak; something alive, that moved. “Some of the lords decided not to trust to Uther’s word.”

“They’ve moved to war with him?” I asked.

He shook his head. “To war, yes; but not with Uther. Pendragon spent most of the Council hunting, leaving Mark of Cornwall to act as his lieutenant. A dozen warriors in the service of those lords most opposed to Uther’s rule rode out on the last day of Council, while the truce was still in force, and murdered him. Now half of the lords of Albion have declared their own High Kingship.” He shook his head sadly. “There will be blood,” he sighed.

“What of the Queen? And her daughters?”

“Always the girls,” my father laughed, by which I knew that they must be safe. “They fled from Camlann Castle before word of the assassination reached the lords. Many suggested that they must have been complicit in the crime.”

“But you do not think so.”

He smiled wryly. “When did you become so incisive?” he asked. “No, Cai; I  _know_  they were innocent, because I know how they were warned.”

“Merlin,” I guessed.

“Close,” he replied. “The eldest girl; Morgana. There’s power in that one, Cai; mark my words. But Merlin was there, about another business.” He turned awkwardly in his saddle.

“Give him to me,” I suggested.

“Him?”

“The High King,” I said. “Merlin gave him to you to take to safety, didn’t he?”

He laughed again, but lifted the infant from under his cloak and handed him down to me, so that he could slip from the saddle. “Has the bard been here then?” he asked.

I shook my head. “But who else could have told you Merlin’s business, or Morgana’s? And why else would he do so? Where will you take the child?”

“Nowhere,” he replied. “We’ll keep him here; raise him as your half-brother. Your stepmother still keeps to her chamber?”

“Yes, father.”

“Then none know that she lost her child,” he declared. “I pray that she will learn to love this one.”

I looked down at the little bundle in my arms. He was very young, but large, and his hands already gripped into small fists. Looking into his eyes, I could see that he was destined for greatness; it was written all across his countenance.

“She will love him,” I assured my father. “Everyone will.”


	2. The Second Principle

In the years immediately following the fall of Uther Pendragon I struggled with my various studies. The insight I had learned from Gorthyn Tinsmith and his daughter Anwyl stood me in good stead in most areas – I could read any opponent like a book, in combat or diplomacy; I never failed to find game in the forest; I always knew which of the beasts would go lame before even the herdsmen did; I could even use my understanding of the ebb and flow of the world to achieve small acts which others might have called miraculous, or magical – but in my practice of the art itself I was frustrated. Gorthyn’s own art had been, by his admission, incomplete and I soon found that I could not take my gifts past a certain point without a teacher. 

Specifically, insight allowed me to see what others missed, but could not guide me in action. Sometimes I could  _feel_  my way through, but mostly I was only more aware than others of how badly I was going wrong. All too often I would squander an advantage by pressing too fast, startle the quarry in a hunt, and I still got more slaps than kisses from the kitchen maids and village girls. And sometimes it would only tell me that there was nothing I could do, as when I beheld the weakness that dogged my stepmother after the loss of her child, the infant whose place Arthur took, but could do nothing to prevent her decline and eventual death. It was that helpless awareness that threatened to turn me bleak and cynical, as I sought to exercise what power I could to stave off the feelings of impotence, regardless of what hurt it brought to others.

The world seemed often to be in a similar state of turmoil to my life. Word would reach us from time to time of another warlord who had emerged to proclaim himself High King of Britain and, soon after, been defeated in battle. Some did well, overthrowing two or even three of their rivals, but success only hastened their demise, drawing others to ally briefly against them. None ever succeeded in seizing and holding Uther’s abandoned stronghold at Camelot and none had yet been able to produce his sword. Many seers foretold that Uther’s blade would reappear only with the coming of a new High King, and it remained lost in the Forest of Arden.

One of the seers who predicted the return of the sword was Blind Cadoc, known to us as the Augur of the Alehouse. It was in my thirteenth year, when Arthur was just two, that he installed himself in the Sign of the Goshawk and began to offer his services as ‘oracle, soothsayer, guide and counsellor’ to anyone willing to pay some part of the shilling a day he needed to keep himself in bed, board and drink at the tavern. I can’t say I took Cadoc very seriously at first, but I saw a lot of him because the tavernkeep at the Goshawk was a good friend of my father and his daughter was my age, pretty and enjoyed flirting with rich boys. Not that I flirted with her much. Flirting with pretty yet superficial girls is one of the simple pleasures that insight denies one. This is not to say that I never tried, only that the experience was inevitably soured as the awareness of Gwenlyan’s grasping mind crept over me. It was usually as I felt her sizing up how far she would need to go to level a claim of promise and how much my father might pay to secure her silence that my attention slid from her to considering the other patrons of the tavern.

It took some time to realise that of all those present, the one my insight never took hold of was the blind seer, and that it was something he was doing that prevented me reading him.

The next day, I went back to the tavern and set five silver shillings before Blind Cadoc. “Teach me,” I told him.

He turned his blind eyes towards my face. “Not here,” he declared.

The next stage of my education in the art of enchantment began in a clearing in a forest. “You know something of insight,” he noted. “Now you must master the second principle; that of intuition. Insight gives you warning; it alerts you to hidden pitfalls and dangers, like the wickedness in young Gwenlyan’s heart. Intuition tells you how to deal with those dangers; how to avert and avoid them. It is the warning voice inside your head which cautions you to hold back when fools rush in.” He had me describe the clearing to him, dwelling on what my insight told me: the trees which might have hidden an ambush; the shadows where wolves might lie in wait; the branches which lacked strength; the mushrooms which held poisons in their soft flesh. Then he guided me to find ways of avoiding each danger.

“But what of these bandits?” I asked. “Aside from the fact that I sense no actual bandits, if they were in hiding I could circle around behind them instead of turning back.”

“And then what?” he demanded. “The art does not make you indestructible, no more does a sword or a shirt of mail.”

“Of course not…”

“So; caution. And you say you sense no bandits, but insight is not infallible. If your enemy possesses some understanding of the art, they might cloak themselves; or you may simply be wrong.”

“Or I might not be.”

“Enough!” he snapped. “We continue tomorrow.”

That was all the thrust of Cadoc’s teaching: “Never press, never question, never  _risk_. He taught me for five days and for ten days more, and by the end of that time I was barely willing to meet him in the woods so wary had I grown. I used to leave all but the day’s shilling in my chambers so I had nothing to rob; wore a sturdy leather jack against the chance of a sneak attack; carried a dagger on my hip and covered all with a ragged cloak. I even took Anwyl’s spoon from my belt pouch, for fear that it might betray the affection I still felt for her. As for Gwenlian, I barely looked at the girl, let alone spoke to her.

Such was the boy that Cadoc made of me, and it perturbed my father. “Prudence is one thing,” he told me, “but skittishness is unbecoming in a youth of almost fourteen. What man would follow a coward, and what wench betroth herself to such a worry-wort? Why, Arthur shows more pluck than you these days!”

And that was true as well, and frighted me terribly, for I saw in every least thing a threat to his life and limb which could not be tolerated. I made his young life a hell and all-but confined him to his bed, and left only the lightest blanket on that for fear he might smother.

And then, Evalac the Seer came to Dinas Cynyr and installed himself in the Goshawk. He named himself a seer and wore a cloth across his eyes to prove it, with the symbol of an eye upon the cloth so that none could doubt him. His left leg was crippled, from a wound suffered in the service of Lord Damas of Dolorous Gard, he explained. Cadoc’s market share plummeted in the face of such illustrious competition and he left the village during the night, following a rather heated discussion with Evalac in the stable yard.

I could see at once that Evalac possessed some measure of power. He was clearly more skilled than I, and while I deemed he might lack a true gift, the caution instilled in me by Cadoc meant that I was unwilling to approach him. I sensed a risk there and I backed away from it. He, however, guided by senses beyond mere sight, made straight for me.

“A fellow seer,” he greeted me in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell me, lad; are you trained.”

I explained that I had some teaching and outlined my understanding of insight and intuition.

“Cadoc?” he scoffed when I was done. “That womanish fool? He would not know intuition if it bit him on the arse. Come; lead me to where you practised and I shall show you some real technique.”

Unwilling to cross him, for he was wiry and strong besides possessing some power of enchantment, I led him to the clearing. There he had me describe our surroundings, just as Cadoc had done, but where Cadoc had focused on the dangers to be sensed, he made me dwell on possibilities.

“If  _you_  were laying an ambush, where would you choose?” he asked. “Those mushrooms; how could their poison serve you?”

“And what of the dangers?” I asked.

“Run towards them,” he replied. “Embrace them. Let your insight guide you safely past them, but do not shrink from them! Be a man, Cai ap Cynyr!”

I admit, I liked his teaching far more than Cadoc’s. For another two weeks I studied with him, growing ever more reckless and fearless. I diced in the tavern, losing often but winning more as my insight guided me. I took many blows in my sparring matches, but emerged ever victorious as I pummelled my opponents with furious strength. I kissed Gwenlyan, earning a slap and another kiss by my boldness, and almost revelled in my understanding of her games.

I thought that my father must surely approve of this new direction, but once more he seemed displeased. “Excess of prudence may become a vice, but profligacy in any degree can never be a virtue,” he told me. “I have had complaint of you for gaming and brawling, and report of drinking to excess, and at such a tender age. The nurse tells me that you twice allowed Arthur to wander unprotected in the garden and my old friend Hugh Tavernkeep tells me you have given rash promises to his daughter!” I confessed to some confusion, but agreed that he should speak to Gwenlyan and her father on my behalf in the morning. Of course, as soon as I left his chambers I ran to the Goshawk myself; my insight and intuition would guide me, I was sure, far better than my father could.

Gwen was not in the taproom and her father angrily told me I would find her in the yard, fetching water. “Although I thought you must already have found her, the time she’s taking.”  
Insight; I knew his words boded ill. Intuition; I sprang into the fray, racing through to the yard. The bucket lay abandoned on the cobbles and the horses shied nervously in their stables. I ran to an empty stall and saw Gwenlyan wrestling with Evalac. He held her head and whispered in her ear.

This much I saw. Insight told me that the seer was pouring words of power out upon the girl; words which caused her limbs to tremble as though palsied and robbed her of the will to fight him. Intuition told me to act, but what to do? Cadoc would counsel me to leave well alone, but there was Gwen to consider; Evalac himself would have bade me attack at once, but her held her too close for comfort.

I chose a third way.

“Let her go!” I roared, putting my power into my voice, just as he was but to an opposite purpose. Evalac stumbled and Gwen, her mind freed of his grasp, pulled away and clawed at his face. She caught his face with her nails and tore away the cloth upon his eyes, revealing the ragged, empty sockets beneath.

Evalac howled like a wounded beast. He thrust Gwen away from him and seized a lantern from the wall, brandishing it like a mace. “Damn you both!” he shrieked, groping blindly towards us. “You’ll pay for this, girl! And you, boy, I’ll teach no more!”

“I’ve learned enough from you!” I replied. “Cadoc went blind because he drew back from what he saw, but you lost your sight for going too far. You led your lord to ruin and he had you blinded and lamed for your sins.”

Insight; I knew that Evalac would attack. Intuition; run or fight? I stooped and pulled Gwen to her feet, drawing her out of range as he swung the lantern. Had I run, he would have hit her; had I lunged at him, he would have hit me. As it was, he struck the wooden wall. The lantern shattered and fire spilled across the straw.

“Go!” I told Gwen, and I moved towards Evalac, shielding my face from the heat. “Come with me,” I called, but he swung the shattered lantern at me and I had to back away. It was his instinct, his intuition, to attack; he could not help himself, even now that it was killing him. 

I turned and fled the flames; there was nothing else I could do.

The yard was full of plunging, panicking horses and I helped Gwen to lead them to safety. Behind us the stable roof collapsed and we heard one last, defiant shriek as the flames took Evalac.

“Thank you,” Gwen said. I held her close and kissed her, because that was what she needed me to do and because it was what I needed after witnessing the horror of Evalac’s madness.

I promised Gwen’s father that I would marry her and we agreed that we should be betrothed on my fifteenth birthday. Four months before the day she begged to be released to marry another and I readily agreed. I was fond of her, she had grown so much through adversity and was on her way to becoming a fine woman, and she was of me, but we did not love one another. Like the kiss, our promise was just something that we needed to bring us through.

As far as the art I understood now what neither Evalac nor Cadoc ever had. Intuition was not about impulse, it was a matter of swift, but  _reasoned_  action. Understanding that, I found that I was able to bend the world that little bit more to my will. I could, had I so wanted, have made Gwen dismiss her other lover; it would have taken just five words. I could even have made her think that she loved me, but love – real love – would have been beyond me and Gwen deserved the real thing.

I like to think that  _I_  deserved it as well. I hope so.


	3. The Third Principle

They called it the Wild Wood, but the truth was that our little patch of woodland was a haven of peace. The world outside was in flames, with a new warlord producing Uther's sword every week and trying to establish himself as the new high king of Britain. We still heard stories from the travellers passing through, but pretty much no-one settled. It seemed that they all thought that the wood would be invaded any day, but we never were.

I was fifteen when the enchanters and the seers and the wise men began arriving in droves. Too many swords that were just bits of metal, too many men who had no mark of destiny upon them, had bred in the warlords a burning hatred of magic and magicians. Some were bitter, others were broken, and some still raved about the glories they might have known. Some of them came to my father's hall and tried to persuade him that he could be the next Uther. They spoke well; he might have been taken in, if not for Arthur.

I thought about going; about leaving the Wild Wood and making my mark as a soldier. I was good enough; with my art guiding me, I was one of the best, and I had a yearning for adventure. Aside from anything else, the girls in the Wild Wood knew me too well and I knew them; the flirtation was no fun, for either of us, when we both knew nothing would come of it. I never did leave, because I had my duty as well; to my father, and to Arthur. Duty bound me like chains and I chafed against the bond. I was young and reckless and I wanted to  _be_  young and reckless. Sometimes I hated Arthur, blaming him for placing the burden of his safety on my family, but it was hard to hate him for long. I wonder if it would have been easier if I  _could_  have hated Arthur – for his intrusion into my life, if nothing else – but I couldn't. 

When people looked at Arthur, they saw an awkward child; good-hearted and unexceptional. There was no mark of greatness upon him, not at the age of five. With his father it might have been expected that he'd quickly grow tall and broad, but Arthur never stood out like that. Neither was he as aggressive as his blood might imply, nor was he conspicuously good; he was just a boy. I stayed, not because I looked up to him, but because he looked up to me. Perhaps it was to kick against that responsibility, or simply to relieve the boredom of peace, that I began to push. All through my sixteenth year I made a deliberate effort to be wilder than I had been, to break rules and get away with it. I got into a few fights and got into trouble with a few girls; although I never got a girl into trouble, if you take my meaning.  
  
I was almost sixteen when I first saw Morwenna. I noticed her because I didn't know her, and that was odd. We got all sorts passing through, but she belonged, yet still I'd never seen her before. That would be odd enough in such a small holding as my father's, but she was pretty too; I  _would_  have noticed her. 

I followed her for a while, drawing a veil around myself to avoid notice. Insight showed me many things, including all the ways in which I let people see what I was about; with intuition I was able to control those tell tales and mask my presence in the world. I could, on my better days, pass like a shadow through the heart of the market, in plain sight and yet unseen.

This was clearly not a good day. The girl spotted me in less than a minute. She walked away towards the edge of the forest and, at the last moment, turned and winked at me before vanishing into the trees. It was a challenge, and one I was not strong enough to refuse.

I knew the Wild Wood well, from experience as much as insight. I was the son of Cynyr Forkbeard, heir to the estate of Dinas Cynyr; I could feel every tree, every stream, in my bones and in my blood. I knew every hunting path as though it were a part of my own body. I could run through the trees for a day and never feel weary, but this girl was like a wild hart, always bounding ahead of me, just within sight. I had chased her for perhaps a mile when I realised that she could have lost me at any time she chose. 

I slowed; she slowed. I ran faster, she ran faster. She kept the distance between us constant.

I stopped. She stopped. Now that I was still I had the chance to look around me, to feel my way through the woods with my senses and my insight; to let my intuition seek out the dangers and the safer paths. I became aware that we were being watched from the trees by half a dozen crows, which had been keeping pace since we entered the woods. There was something else as well, but I could not sense it; there was a veil too strong for me to pierce and that meant another sorcerer, stronger than either I or the girl.

After a moment's hesitation, the girl walked back towards me. She stopped about twenty paces away. “Lost interest already?”

“In your game; not in you,” I replied.

She took two paces forward. “My game?” she asked innocently.

I took two paces forward. “Leading me through the woods while all these eyes watch us.”

She took three more paces forward. “You are shy of the animals of the woods?”

“Not at all,” I assured her, taking three paces forward.

“Then what.” She took another five paces and I closed the gap between us.

“Your master,” I replied, and I caught her wrists before she could dart away. I held her as she struggled, but I did not hold hard and she did not struggle much. Her eyes met mine, alive with life. I felt the blur of the veil resolve as the sorcerer moved; I could place it now, just ahead and to my right. It was an effort to tear my gaze from the girl, but at least I succeeded and saw an older woman striding from the trees.

She was dressed in green, but more than her clothes she was clad in the forest itself, wrapping it around her by her art. Even then, when I knew she was before me, my gaze slid off her, seeing only leaves and bark instead of human hair or eye. To this day, I can't say what she actually looked like, although I have a distinct impression of wise, grey eyes.

“Well done, Cai ap Cynyr,” she said in a voice that was rich and gentle, but with an edge of steel beneath it. “Not many men can see through Morwenna's veil. You have some understanding of the Art?”

“Yes, mistress,” I replied, releasing Morwenna and giving a short bow. “I have been trained in the first and second principles.”

She nodded. “I am Mimr, called by some the Witch of the Wild Wood. My student has attained a similar level of expertise, although it seems that your skills exceed hers,” she added with a scowl.

“I  _wanted_  him to follow me,” Morwenna replied tartly. She flashed me a smile.

“Come,” the Witch said. “you will dine with us.”

I thanked her, although I had enough awareness to realise that I was not being offered a choice. When a sorceress of such power invites you to dine with her, you go.

*

Dinner was a test. Morwenna was exercising every ounce of her power to make me notice her – a superfluous effort, but if she couldn't sense that, I wasn't going to tell her – while the Witch cast a series of veils over the room. I ate a few things I shouldn't have and her cat managed to snare a few choice morsels, but I must have pierced enough of her glamours to impress.

“You have a good eye,” she told me, “and a level head under all that bravado and bluster. If Morwenna paid half so much attention...”

Morwenna had been playing with the cat, but she looked up in annoyance. “Hey!”

“She is studying the third principle at present,” the Witch went on. “If you wish to learn, you may stay and study with her, but you must decide now: stay or go.”

I chose to stay, of course. It was what I wanted; a chance to get away from home, from Arthur; a chance to get to know a girl who wasn't interested in the estate or trying to secure a promise of marriage. Oh, yes, Morwenna was a big part of my decision. I may have noted before that girls have played a part in most of the poor decisions of my life; I don't blame them, mind; the flaw is in my nature.

The Witch was a demanding teacher, but her attention tended to wander. She was, I realised, somehow attuned to the entire forest, seeing through the eyes of its creatures, feeling every movement within its bounds. Small wonder that her attention was not always quite on her pupils. Morwenna and I took shameful advantage of her distraction, flirting, cheating at the tests she set us and on occasion simply slipping away from her her to walk in the woods together.

Days passed. I learned much from the Witch, honing my senses to a razor's sharpness. Morwenna and I became very close, meanwhile. She was not my first love, but she was my first lover; my feeling was that it was the same for her. I could have done much worse and I hope that she could have said as much.

I was not sure at the time how long it had been before I began to question, but in time I realised that, although I was learning more than I had dreamed possible about insight and intuition, the Witch was doing nothing to teach us about discipline, which Gorthyn had told me was the third principle. Moreover, as time went by I slowly realised that, whatever she might seem to be doing, the Witch was  _always_  watching us.

One night, I dreamed about my family; father, my stepmother, Arthur. I realised I had to go back to them, even if it meant not coming back; never seeing Morwenna again. It was a difficult goodbye, but I forced myself to be strong. I didn't promise to come back, I didn't ask her to wait. I did tell her I was sorry, several times, but in the end she just got angry and stormed off in a huff. I don't think I blame her.

I did a lot of thinking as I walked back through the trees. I thought about the last few days; about the Witch; about Morwenna. I almost turned back twice, but I held firm and set my pace towards Dinas Cynyr.

I was on the edge of the wood when the Witch came to me. “Do you understand?” she asked.

“I think so,” I replied. “This is discipline, isn't it?”

She nodded. “Controlling oneself is the first step on the path to controlling the world. I've been waiting a long time for someone to come who would test Morwenna's discipline. I never expected that he would be learning the same lessons.”

“Her test is not to follow,” I sighed.

“Yes.”

“And she will pass,” I said, and I knew I was right. It wasn't just because she'd been angry with me, either; on the contrary, she'd been so angry because she knew that I was saying goodbye forever.

“If she doesn't...?” It was strange to hear the Witch sound like that; uncertain, almost wistful.

“I'll take good care of her,” I promised, but the Witch knew as well as I did that she wouldn't come after me. She just hoped she would. The life of a sorcerer is a lonely one; she didn't want that for Morwenna. I turned to say something, but she was gone, or if she wasn't, I couldn't see her anymore.

I left the woods and went back to my family. For a moment I felt the lure of the woods, of a life with Morwenna away from duty, but I knew now that it was not for me. I had given my life to Arthur five years before and I would have done us both a disservice to turn from him now.

I stopped in the village and learned that I had been gone for more than a fortnight. My father was in a towering rage with the world, and as soon as I got back he would transfer that anger onto me.

But that was as it should be.

I drew myself up, and walked back to my father's house.


	4. The Fourth Principle

I’d been reading, which I knew my father wouldn’t approve of. As it went in my father’s world, reading was almost as unacceptable as knocking up the help; it harmed the reputation of individual and family and pointed to moral degeneracy. He would especially not have approved of my choice of reading material, for I was studying all that I could from the library of Arthur’s mysterious tutor, Merlin.

My father did not like Merlin, but he was the one who gave Arthur into our care and he had been Uther’s enchanter before their falling out. His qualifications were unquestionable and if father had refused him he could have brought Dinas Cynyr into ruin in days. All he had to do was whisper of Arthur’s presence and the Wildwood would have been invaded by every charlatan, churchman, warlord and murderer in Britain, looking to claim or destroy Uther’s son.

In all honesty, I didn’t entirely trust Merlin myself, not because he was an enchanter, but because of his interest in Arthur. I had long since promised to protect Arthur, and that made me suspicious of everyone who came near him. Usually I understood their motives, whether it was the bishop who wanted him for the priesthood or a girl looking for the price f a broken promise, but Merlin was different. His art was far beyond mine and so his mind was hidden from me.

So it was that, as Merlin spent his days teaching Arthur, I crept into the study father had assigned him and poured over his books, seeking to learn for myself the fourth principle of enchantment: knowledge. 

This was when Arthur was eight and I was nineteen; hardly an age where scholarship should have been my first concern. Having spent my early teenage years worrying that I would let girls drag me into ruin, my father was now beginning to fear that I would never wed, and leave the manor without an heir. In truth, while my interest in girls was unabated, my concern for the manor was less than it should have been, all my worries and sense of responsibility lying with Arthur. It was a demanding responsibility, because Arthur was a reckless, precocious youth and only Merlin’s supervision of him gave me the time away from watching him to break into the enchanter’s study.

For an itinerant enchanter with but a single trunk to his name, Merlin had certainly arrived with a lot of books. I would have wondered where they all came from, but such a question was ridiculous when asked about an enchanter of such power. Suffice to say, I steered clear of his trunk for fear I might fall in and be lost forever.

The books, on the other hand, I devoured. Most were in Latin, but I’d learned to read the Church tongue from the bishop while he was trying to have Arthur promised to the clergy. They described creatures beyond my imagining, their habits and their powers and weaknesses; spells and charms I could not have conceived of; places of mystical power and significance. All this I absorbed, and yet I felt no different in myself.

*

My father was not a man who had luck with women. My mother died giving birth to me and my stepmother fell to a cold the winter after her own son, he whom others took Arthur to be, was stillborn. In this particular year, he had – and not for the first time – become convinced that his luck was changing, and he returned from a visit to one of our neighbours in high spirits, singing the praises of yet another maiden. “I admit,” he said, “that I had hoped to arrange a match for you, my boy. A part of me feels bad for denying you this, but when Aylid and I met…” He shook his head and then proceeded to rhapsodise on his new love until I was frankly sick of the name Aylid. She was, it seemed, the ward of Hywel Redcloak, lord of the wealthy manor on the east of the Wildwood, and of some gentle birth in the north of Albion. She hardly sounded suitable for the wife of a rustic lord, but father seemed besotted. In truth, this worried me. I knew father’s infatuations pretty well by now and they were usually with women not much younger than himself and tended to end in nothing worse than regret. This was different and I could see that this girl, who was younger than I, had a tight hold on him. I tried to counsel caution, but the arts at my command were not equal to this task and he rounded on me angrily, accusing me of jealousy and warning dire consequences for anyone who tried to thwart this match.

As the day appointed for her arrival at Dinas Cynyr approached, father seemed more and more consumed by his love. He ordered all the servants and tenants of the manor to leave off their work – and this at harvest time – and look to making ready for their new lady’s arrival. I did what I could to keep the manor functioning, but father’s obsession seemed to be spreading. 

Crops were standing unreaped in the fields, and all the farmers seemed to care about was the coming of Aylid. Everyone was praising this immaculate beauty, despite having never even met the woman. I could feel the effect radiating out from my father and do something to fight it, but this was powerful magic and my best efforts were akin to trying to fight a house fire with a blanket. For every blaze I put down, three more would spring up. Merlin could have done something to fight it, but Merlin wasn’t there.

“What do you mean, gone away?” I asked Arthur.

“He said he had business to attend to in the east,” Arthur replied, looking at me with those big, serious eyes of his. “Why does father keep talking about this woman Aylid?”

“Because he plans to marry her,” I replied. “You don’t think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world then?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t met her,” he reminded me, which was encouraging. Merlin must be teaching him some sense to resist the charm that the woman seemed to be working through father.

When the Lady Aylid arrived in the Wildwood, I began to understand the power she held over my father. She was undeniably beautiful and the sight of her wove a spell over everyone who saw her, but I had been prepared for this.

As she processed into the manor, I tailed her, working every counter-char against glamour that I knew. First, I looked at her through a glass, and then through water, but she still seemed lovely to me. I had a stone with a natural hole piercing it, but this powerful charm against fae glamours failed me. A prayer was likewise ineffective and by this time she was at the door and I had to dash in ahead of her and bring Arthur out to meet her.

Close to, she was even lovelier, despite the rowan sprigs in my cloak pockets. She fussed over Arthur, who looked as besotted as I must have felt, and then offered me her hand to kiss.

“Cai,” she greeted me. “I have heard so much about you. Such a handsome youth,” she laughed. “We shall have to settle you before you break every heart in the Wildwood.”

I blushed and babbled like an idiot and she smiled kindly before sweeping away, leaving me feel as though I would have killed my own father to possess her. I was angry at myself, humiliated by how utterly she had beaten me, but as I pushed my hands into my pockets to grasp the rowan I felt the handle of my bronze spoon.

With one chance left, I drew out the polished metal spoon and held it up, catching the reflection of the retreating lady. She half-turned and I caught a distorted glimpse of a thin, hard face. I turned quickly and I saw her glaring at me. She was still beautiful, but I could see the coldness in her now and in the gimlet glower of her dark eyes I tasted a threat.

I forced a besotted smile onto my face and she seemed satisfied. Her gaze drifted back to Arthur and her eyes lit up with a sinister greed. Aylid was a sorceress, and a powerful one. Somehow she  _knew_  who he was and she had plans for him.

And with Merlin gone, I was the only one who could stop her. 

*

My father immediately declared a feast, at which Aylid would be introduced to all of the tenants of the manor. I knew that this was when I would have to face her, because afterwards they would all be in her power. I just needed a way to reveal her nature and destroy her glamour in public, and the only one I could think of I didn’t want to chance unless I had to.

As the day wore on, however, I began to realise that I wasn’t going to have a choice. The largest mirror in the manor was the size of my palm and I could hardly count on everyone catching her reflection in their cutlery. To unmask the enchantress, I should have to show people a different kind of reflection.

So it was that I stood up at the end of my father’s speech of welcome and announced my wish to recite a poem I had written in honour of my new stepmother. She appeared flattered and father was all smiles and encouragement, so I began:

“The Lady Aylid, wondrous fair,  
With blushing cheek and silken hair,  
Conceals behind her tresses raven,  
A heart devoid of conscience or care.”

Father looked stunned, Aylid enraged, and I went on quickly.

“With flattering look and kind embrace,  
Insinuating air and grace,  
With aim most cruel and looks most kind,  
Steals by stealth a mother’s place.

“She works her spell with sorcerous art,  
To bind about my father’s heart,  
And bring her deadly serpent’s tooth,  
In striking distance of our Wart.”

Father’s face had been growing more and more crimson as my rhyme progressed, but at this accusation Aylid’s gaze snapped to Arthur even as father turned to her and he saw the hunger in her eyes.

“Aylid,” he gasped, the scales falling, but before she could say any more she spoke a word of power and he froze in place, as did all the room, save for she and I.

“So, you have some art, boy,” she hissed. “You have done me harm this night, and in return I shall do you the honour of knowing the hurt that you shall suffer. I will marry your father and destroy him, leaving me in control of the High King’s son.”

“His sight is clearing,” I told her.

Her smile was as deadly as the serpent that slithered from her bodice. “He shall forget your doggerel charm in his fear for your life,” she assured him. “And I shall sit by your bedside and weave my spell around you, so that when you wake to find your father dead, you shall wed his unconsummated bride without hesitation.”

“Never!”

“Yes!” she insisted. “But do not fear. I shall leave you just enough awareness that you will always know what I really am, but be powerless to refuse me.”

As she spoke, my blood felt thick and cold; I felt as though I couldn’t move. I knew, however, that no words could do this to me. She might paralyse my father and his tenants, but that was because they lacked my arts. I could see how her voice wound around my mind and I could resist it, so that when the serpent lunged at me I was free to reach up and catch it by the throat.

“No,” I replied. “It won’t happen. I won’t let you control Arthur.”

She hissed in pure fury. “You can not stop me!”

“Perhaps,” I agreed. “But  _he_  can.” As I spoke, I looked past her, to the strong, slim man who stood at my brother’s side.

Aylid turned in fear. “Merlin!” she shrieked. A knife appeared in her hand. “No! If he is not to be mine…”

I flung out my hand and flung the serpent into her hair. Panicking, it wound around her neck and bit deep. She screamed once and fell to the ground in a swoon.

At once, her spell broke. My father leaped forward and smote the serpent with his sword, but even as he bent by Aylid’s still form I could see the befuddlement on his face as the enchantment left him. Behind him, I saw Merlin leading Arthur away.

*

I met Merlin at the side of Aylid’s bier. Father had ordered she lie in state and receive a noble burial, but he had not come to sit by her side. I went in his place, feeling bad that there was no-one to mourn her.

“Would she really have killed Arthur?” I asked the enchanter.

“Probably,” he agreed, “or at least me. Funny; I was prepared for the spells and the serpent, but after all these years, I should have anticipated something as simple as a knife. Thank you, Cai ap Cynyr.”

“He’s my brother,” I answered simply, challenging him to deny it with my gaze.

“Yes, he is.”

“You knew I was reading your books.”

He smiled. “Of course. You had to be prepared for an eventuality such as this. Aylid did not act alone and I had to move to stop her supporters, leaving you to protect Arthur.”

I nodded in understanding. “But the books… they didn’t give me knowledge,” I went on.

“Well… in a manner of speaking. But the enchanter does not merely  _possess_  knowledge, but uses it. You knew the ways to counter a charm of that sort and used them to learn what you dealt with and how to release the others. That was well done.”

“Then is that the fourth principle; to know and to act with knowledge.”

“It is,” he agreed. “And you must come to it without teaching.” He smiled sadly. “And I am sorry, Cai, but that is the last of the easy lessons.”

At the time it hadn’t felt easy, but later I would realise that, of course, he had been right.


End file.
